


Whitewash

by theswearingkind



Category: Brokeback Mountain
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-27
Updated: 2013-10-27
Packaged: 2017-12-28 21:32:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/996934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theswearingkind/pseuds/theswearingkind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a slow drip down to what's meant to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whitewash

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is in response to horserider912's prompt, which reads: "Something happened while Jack and Ennis were up on Brokeback that led Jack to believe that nothing would change between them after they brought the sheep down, thus, he didn't act concerned when Aguirre told them to bring the sheep down a month early. You, the author, decide what transpired between Jack and Ennis that convinced Jack that despite Ennis' words, this wasn't *a one shot thing* they had going on, and why he was so devastated and in seeming disbelief when they parted ways in Signal. Something like a scene that AP or Ang never gave us, an unwritten part of either book or movie canon."
> 
> Originally posted to brokebackslash in 2006.

It’s a slow drip down from that first night, flames licking at their feet, every day the murmur under his skin: no time, never enough time. There’s not enough of him for this—his blood’s too thin, dreams too pale, for something that could eat him whole, tear him limb from limb and leave him bloody and beaten, broken as an old man’s body swarming with flies.

Jack sees this, and knows it, and wants him anyway, is willing to throw himself headlong off the cliff, all for the sliver of a chance at catching Ennis before he hits the rocks below. Jack sees the kicked dog underneath the rancher’s denim and cotton, the shying colt behind the boots and spurs, and he can’t help but try to soothe the beast even as he thrills in riling up the man.

The fucking isn’t what’s important—it’s more the way he sees Ennis open to him like some sort of puzzle, each piece fitting to the others, ending in a faded kind of beauty that makes his gut turn, how when Ennis thinks Jack’s asleep he says things that make Jack want to shoot him dead between the eyes, because a summer in the sky is one thing, but those words set a life for him that can’t hold much good.

The big things change in broad strokes of whitewash, but the little ones never will.


End file.
